Call ye my whole! ay call
The lord of lute and lay!
And let him greet the sable pall
With a noble song to-day.

Go call him by his name;

No fitter hand may crave

To light the flame of a soldier's name On the turf of a soldier's grave.

CONTENT. -DISCONTENT.

213

Content. Discontent.

SOME murmur when their sky is clear,
And wholly bright to view,
If one small speck of dark appear

In their great heaven of blue.
And some with thankful love are fill'd,
If but one streak of light,

One ray of God's good mercy gild

The darkness of their night.

In palaces are hearts that ask,
In discontent and pride,
Why life is such a dreary task,

And all good things denied?
And hearts in poorest huts admire,
How love has in their aid
(Love that not ever seems to tire)
Such rich provision made.

Mood Hymn.

BROODS there some spirit here?

The summer leaves hang silent as a cloud,
And o'er the pools, all still and darkly clear,
The wildwood hyacinth with awe seems bow'd;
And something of a tender cloistral gloom
Deepens the violet's bloom.

The very light that streams,

Through the dim dewy vail of foliage round, Comes, tremulous with emerald-tinted gleams, As if it knew the place were holy ground,

And would not startle, with too bright a burst, Flowers all divinely nursed.

Wakes there some spirit here?

A swift wind, fraught with change, comes rushing by,

And leaves and waters, in its wild career, Shed forth sweet voices-each a mystery! Surely some awful influence must pervade These depths of trembling shade!

WOOD HYMN.

Yes, lightly, softly move!

There is a Power, a Presence in the woods;
A viewless Being, that with life and love
Informs the reverential solitudes;

The rich air knows it, and the mossy sod-
Thou, Thou art here, my God!

215

And if with awe we tread

The minster-floor, beneath the storied pane, And 'midst the mold'ring banners of the dead, Shall the green voiceful wild seem less Thy fane, Where Thou alone hast built?-where arch and roof

Are of Thy living woof?

The silence and the sound

In the lone places breathe alike of Thee;
The temple-twilight, or the gloom profound,
The dew-cup of the frail anemone,

The reed by every wandering whisper thrill'd—
All, all with Thee are fill'd.

O, purify mine eyes

More and yet more, by love and holy thought, Thy presence, Holiest One! to recognize

In these majestic isles which thou hast wrought! And, 'midst their sea-like murmurs, teach mine

ear

Ever thy voice to hear!

And sanctify my heart

To meet the awful sweetness of that tone
With no faint thrill or self-accusing start,
But a deep joy the heavenly guest to own!
Joy, such as dwelt in Eden's glorious bowers
Ere sin had dimm'd the flowers.

Let me not know the change

O'er nature thrown by Guilt!-the boding sky, The hollow leaf-sounds ominous and strange, The weight wherewith the dark tree-shadows lie! Father, O keep my footsteps pure and free, To walk the woods with Thee!